


The Story

by papermoon2719



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Female Homosexuality, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papermoon2719/pseuds/papermoon2719
Summary: He’s SHIELD’s greatest asset, and now that he’s awake they need someone to make sure he doesn’t go off the deep end. Apparently that person is you.





	1. Chapter 1

You know when the alarms start blaring that you were right. It was a stupid idea, pretending it’s still 1945. Of all the things you know Steve Rogers to be from his file, stupid isn’t one of them.

So when you’re sitting at your desk typing up a monthly report about one of your clients (a telekinetic in Oregon), you know it’s because of Steve. You walk over to the window, glancing out over Time’s Square. You see him run out, looking around frantically. It’s gonna be so much harder now, you think, crossing your arms over your chest. You watch as Fury himself approaches Rogers, unsure of what he’s saying. Honestly you’re surprised when Rogers follows him in willingly, but by the way the team of armed agents follows you think it may not be an entirely voluntary decision.

You shake your head, turning back to your desk. You’ve just finished your report when the phone rings. You see that it’s the Director’s line. You remind yourself that being smug with Nick Fury is pretty much asking to be fired, so you answer with a brisk hello.

“It didn’t work,” Fury says. You manage not to scoff, biting the inside of your cheek instead. You know he knows exactly what you want to say. The man is a borderline psychic. Then again, he is the director of SHIELD. Part of the job is being able to read people.

“Do you want me to try?” you offer, trying not to sound too snarky. There’s a pause, then Fury answers in a low voice.

“Fifteen minutes. This takes priority.”

* * *

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed when you get to the infirmary. You pause in the doorway, taking in the bowed head and tense shoulders. From this angle you can see that his knuckles are white where he’s gripping the edge of the mattress. You realize you’re slightly nervous and have to take a deep breath, reminding yourself that this is your job and you’re good at it. You have training, just like he does. Only, where he can crack open a man’s skull with his bare hands, you don’t need brute force to get into a man’s head.

Steve shifts, his head coming up and torso turning, and you have just enough time to clear your throat before he’s facing you. The sound of your heels on the tile floor is loud as you walk into the tiny room.

“Hi, Captain Rogers. My name is Dr. Y/L/N. Director Fury sent me.”

You hold out your hand when you reach the edge of the bed. He tentatively takes it, his grasp firm. You realize that he could crush every bone in your hand without breaking a sweat and resist the urge to pull away quickly. Instead you let your hand fall naturally to your hip.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he replies. You smile involuntarily at the term, reminded of his age. If he notices he doesn’t let on, his eyes moving back to the wall behind you. Whether out of nerves or respect you don’t know, but you decide to file it away for later.

“I’m guessing you know it isn’t 1945,” you say, deciding that jumping right in is the best way to go.  Steve’s eyes jump back to yours quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing for a moment before he nods.

“Yeah, I caught on to that,” he finally replies. You smile softly at him.

“How about we go to my office, I can make you a cup of coffee, and we can talk?” you offer. He looks at you skeptically, probably sizing you up. You let him.

Finally he nods, standing. You glance down at his feet and see they at least got him a pair of slippers. They remind you of a pair your grandfather had. You have to remind yourself that the man in front of you is older than him. You’re going to need some time to get used to this.

You lead Steve to the elevator, nodding sharply to the guard who moves in front of the ID reader. Just when you think you’re going to have to threaten to call Fury the guard caves, moving to the side enough that you can slide your badge through.

The ride up to your floor is a quiet one. You notice that Steve relaxes a bit when he sees it’s a much less secure area.

“It’s right down here,” you direct, pointing down the hallway. Your office is the fourth door on the right, and Steve follows you obediently. You notice everyone looking at him as you walk in, so while he stands awkwardly by your desk you close the door and drop all the blinds.

“Coffee?” you ask, gesturing to the Keurig in the corner. He looks at it as if it’s going to bite him.

“Don’t worry,” you reassure with a small smile. “I’ll make it for you.”

He nods gently. You gesture for him to sit and he does, albeit stiffly, and you walk over to make his coffee.

It takes you a couple of minutes, and by the time you carry the steaming mug over to him, Steve is looking out of the full wall window behind your desk forlornly. You offer him cream and sugar (he declines), and you finally sit.

“We aren’t HYDRA,” you say bluntly. Your suspicion that he thinks you are is confirmed when his eyes snap to yours, wide.

“What are you?” he asks. You pause, trying to figure out the best way to explain.

“The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division,” you say. Steve stares at you.

“After you took HYDRA down, Agent Carter and Howard Stark founded SHIELD. We’re their legacy.”

Steve softens at the mention of Peggy’s name and you know the question before he asks.

“She’s still alive,” you say. “She retired before I came to work here.”

You hope that this keeps you from having to tell him that any questions about Peggy would have to be directed to her. It’s not your place to answer them. He nods but doesn’t press it.

“So,” he finally says. “What exactly do you do?”

“Technically my title is Transition Specialist,” you answer. Steve looks confused so you continue. “Essentially, I help those with abilities who end up under SHIELD’s protection have as normal a life as possible.”

Steve nods slowly, glancing around your office. His gaze lingers on the photograph of your grandfather you keep by his Army medals on your bookcase.

“You saved his life.”

Steve looks at you, brows furrowing.

“He was 19. Schmidt was holding him prisoner when you showed up. You got him out.”

You stare at each other for a moment before Steve opens his mouth. He closes it again, looking down into his lap before speaking.

“I did my best,” he says simply, and you feel a sudden ache in your chest. You’re standing before you know it, circling your desk. You stop next to his chair, dropping down to a low squat to take his hand.

“I know this is hard. I know this isn’t even remotely what you signed up for. But I also know you can do this. Director Fury told me that you’re my top priority, and I intend to keep it that way. I’m not leaving until you don’t need me anymore. I promise.”

His eyes meet yours and you’re surprised to see defeat in them.

“You’re going to survive this,” you whisper, cupping his cheek in a way you should never do with a client. Part of you doesn’t see him as a client, though, and you don’t think that’s particularly a bad thing. He leans into your touch for a moment before nodding. You pull away, standing to round your desk again. It’s silent for another minute or so, both of you collecting yourselves. Finally, Steve clears his throat and looks at you.

“So, how’d the war end?”


	2. Chapter 2

“So how exactly does this work?” Steve asks, tugging nervously at his sleeve and looking at you. You aren’t surprised that he’s anxious; most of your clients feel at least a little anxiety during the first session. You give him a reassuring smile.

“We just talk,” you answer gently. Steve nods, eyes jumping once again to the medals displayed on your bookshelf. He’d left it alone that first day, listening carefully to what happened at the end of the war, and also to what you were cleared to tell him about SHIELD.

He’d seemed relieved to hear that HYDRA was no longer a threat and the general public was completely oblivious to its existence.

You could tell he took comfort in looking over the medals that hung clean and proper in their case. Hell, he’d received all of them and more after he disappeared.

You felt Steve’s eyes follow you as you stood up and lifting the case from the wall to lay it down on your desk. Steve reaches out, meeting your eyes as if asking for permission. You nod towards him and he grasps it. You watch him as he looks the medals over, fingers ghosting across the glass as he does.

“We can get yours out of the Archives,” you offer, smiling softly when he looks up at you surprised.

“My what?” he asks, setting the case back on the desk. You raise your eyebrows, inclining your head toward the medals.

“Your war medals,” you answer, pulling his file over. “You have about a dozen, just from the United States alone. The United Kingdom awarded you a few, and you even have one from Russia.”

Steve looks a proper blend of honored and embarrassed, his cheeks flushing at the news. He drops his head.

“I don’t deserve any medals, ma’am,” he says softly. You watch him watch his hands, the pads of his thumbs pressed together.

“What about Sergeant Barnes’ medals?” you offer in a whisper.

Steve’s head snaps up, his eyes wide.

“Bucky has medals?” he asks, his voice catching on his best friend’s name. You nod, surprised by the tears that sting your eyes and the lump that forms in your throat.

“He, uh - he was awarded the Medal of Honor and a Bronze Star for his service with the Commandos,” you manage. You see tears in Steve’s eyes and you have to look away. You clear your throat, the back of your index finger coming up to brush the tip of your nose.

“Agent Carter had them sent to the Archives. It’s easy enough for me to send in a request.”

Steve nods at the offer. “Thank you, ma’am.”

You chuckle. “I’m only doing it on the condition that you stop calling me ‘ma’am’ and start calling me Y/N,” you say, picking up your journal (that you may have picked out specifically with him in mind, but you’re not telling) and pen before you make eye contact with Steve.

“Okay, Y/N.”

You prop it on your knee, poised to start taking notes.

“Okay, so, just a few ground rules and disclaimers,” you start, going into Professional Mode. “These sessions are one-hundred-percent private. No matter who asks, they will only get basic, general answers unless you indicate an intent to hurt yourself or others. Not even Director Fury will know the details of what we discuss. As such, this relationship will be built on a basis of trust, mutual trust, that you will tell me what’s important to you, and that you will answer my questions truthfully.”

You pause, waiting for Steve to indicate he understands. He nods, so you continue.

“These sessions are intended to be therapeutic, but also practical in nature. We’ll go at your pace, but that means that you’re in charge of your own progression.”

“What do you mean by ‘practical’?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. You smile.

“It means I’m here to help you adjust to life outside these walls. I’ll help you learn our technology, maneuver the city, eventually find an apartment. Consider me a life-teacher,” you explain. Steve nods, clearing his throat.

“So, Doc. Where should we start?” he asks, and you shrug.

“Wherever you want to, Steve.”

* * *

“Well, I think that was an extremely good first session,” you say encouragingly, closing your journal. You have at least thirty pages to read through and transcribe tonight, but you find you’re actually looking forward to it.

Steve smiles back at you, exhaling deeply.

“If you say so, Doc. You’re the expert,” he answers. He rubs his palms on his thighs as you stand and stretch. You try not to notice how he watches you from the corner of his eye.

“Hey, Doc. Can I ask you a question?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Anything. ‘S why I’m here,” you answer. He smiles briefly before clearing his throat.

“The nightmares I’m having,” he starts, and you think back to his descriptions.  

_I can’t always remember them, but I know it’s dark and cold. And I feel like I won’t ever wake up._

"Are they normal?” he finishes, rubbing the back of his neck.

You sigh, walking over and leaning up against the edge of the desk.

“Perfectly,” you answer. “You’re in a new place after going through probably the most traumatic experience anyone’s ever been through.”

Steve looks at you skeptically and you see your grandfather in his eyes.

_~~‘Ain’t no weak man,~~ _

“You aren’t weak,” you say softly, finding yourself reaching out to take his hand. “No human is meant to go through what you have. So nightmares are a completely natural response.”

Steve nods, seeming a little more at ease.

“Are we meeting again tomorrow?” he asks, and you let go of his hand when you hear how hopeful he is. You place a smile on your face, standing again to circle your desk.

“We can. You want to meet here?” you ask. Steve ponders it for a moment before raising an eyebrow.

“Any chance we can meet somewhere else? Like out there?” He gestures to the window and you nod softly.

“I’ll have to clear it, but I think that can be arranged,” you reply. Steve looks happy, and you smile wider.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc,” he says, standing. He pauses for a moment, looking like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. You almost swear he shakes his head, minutely, before turning and walking out of your office.

_Get it together, Y/N_ , you think. You know you can’t fall for him. He’s your client, and that would be breaking almost every ethical standard you have. It just can’t happen.


	3. Chapter 3

If there’s anything you hate about your job it’s getting called to Director Fury’s office. Or having him come to your office. Or him showing up in your apartment at 2:30 in the morning when you’ve been out all night with your friends who are in NYC for a girls’ weekend and having him see you in a dress that barely covers your ass and wearing your highest fuck-me-pumps.

Okay, so that last one only happened once. But once was enough.

To be honest, it always felt like being called to the principle’s office. Well, if the principle was a former CIA agent turned director of an agency that employed hundreds of highly trained assassins who all answered to him. The point is, you always thought you were going to say the wrong thing to him and get yourself in trouble.

It really shouldn’t have surprised you that the first thing he asked after motioning for you to sit in the chair in front of his desk was how your first session with Steve had gone. In hindsight you should have been surprised that it took him a full 4 hours to ask you.

“It went well,” you answer, tucking your skirt under you as you sit. He rounds the desk and takes his own seat, motioning for you to continue. You raise an eyebrow.

“Sir, with all due respect, Captain Rogers is my client. I can’t tell you anything he said to me,” you explain slowly, doing your best to be respectful but stern. Fury chuckles.

“Doctor, I understand doctor-patient privilege, but certainly you understand that, in this situation, knowing what’s going on in his mind could be important,” he says, folding his fingers across his chest. You take in a deep breath, biting the inside of your lip before finally replying.

“Sir, is Captain Rogers an American citizen?” you ask. His eyebrows knit together, confusion flickering in his eye.

“Yes,” he answers slowly. You nod.

“Well, as such, he has rights according to HIPPAA. I cannot break confidentiality unless he expresses a desire to harm himself or someone else,” you explain. You hope he drops it, but he doesn’t.

“I understand that doctor, but seeing as you work for SHEILD, -”

“I’m doubly accountable to the rules,” you boldly interrupt, sitting a little bit straighter. You expect it when he begins to challenge you again, but you shake your head.

“Sir, do you trust my abilities?”

“Yes.”

“Have I been performing to the expectations of someone in my position with SHIELD?”

“Above expectations.”

“Have I ever failed to inform SHEILD of something that a client said that resulted in injury, loss of life, or in any other way compromised SHEILD?”

“Well, no, but -”

“Then, please, Director Fury,  _let me do my job_ ,” you breathe, surprised at your own boldness. For a moment you wonder if he’s going to fire you, or worse. But he only looks at you, no indication of how he feels showing on his face.

It was mildly infuriating.

Finally he sighs, narrowing his eye slightly.

“Alright, Doc. I’m trusting you will let me know anything important immediately.”

You nod softly, looking at where your hands are folded in your lap.

“Is there anything I can do to help Captain Rogers adjust faster?” Fury asks and you look back up, nodding.

“I was wondering if I could take him out for our session tomorrow. Not anywhere far, just to get a pizza, walk around,” you say hopefully. Fury gives you the skeptical look you were expecting, and you can tell he’s about to say no so you speak quickly. “I really think it’ll help him.”

He stares at you for what seems like an eternity before finally nodding.

“But you’re going to have a detail. We can’t risk him getting away.”

It’s your turn to stare. You know that the entire point is to get Steve away from the armed guards and the people watching his every move, waiting for him to snap. At the same time, though, it probably wouldn’t do you much good to argue.

“Fine. But just two men, and they don’t come less than a hundred yards unless something happens. Our session is still private,” you say, relieved when Fury nods.

“Just make sure Maria knows where you’re going. She’ll set up the detail,” he says. You nod, standing. You’re almost at the door before you remember.

“Sir,” you say, turning back around. “Would it be possible to get Captain Rogers’ and Sergeant Barnes’ war medals out of the Archives?”

Fury gives you the softest look he can muster and nods.

“I’ll have them sent to your office.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So, where are we going?”

Steve looks at you, eyebrows raised and bouncing on the balls of his feet. You can’t help but smile, rounding your desk, bag in hand.

“Well, I’m assuming you like pizza,” you say, and Steve nods. You smile.

“There’s a place a few blocks down that’s pretty good,” you explain. Steve nods, grinning widely.

“But first, I need to change,” you say, holding up the bag in your hand. Steve looks you up and down, eyebrows coming together.

“Why? You look great,” he says, then blushes. You feel heat bloom on your own cheeks and smile.

“Thanks, but walking nearly a mile in heels is not fun,” you answer. He nods, then sits down. You head out of your office and take the short walk down the hall to the bathroom, where you change into a simple pair of jeans, gray top, and converse. Your favorite scarf is wrapped loosely around your neck and you opt for no bag, choosing instead to tuck your ID and some cash in your back pocket.

“Ready?” you ask as you walk back into your office. You smile at Steve, who’s looking through the books on the wall, as you pull the clip out of your hair, ruffling and scrunching it back into place. He turns and looks at you, and you can’t help but blush when his mouth parts slightly and he looks you up and down. He recovers quickly and nods, his own cheeks tinged pink.

You can’t help but feel just a little self-conscious as you board the elevator, watching Steve out of the corner of your eye. You can almost feel him doing the same, and you wonder what he’s thinking. God, you wished you had mind-reading abilities right now.

The ride is blissfully short and soon you’re in the lobby. You guide Steve to the doors, nodding to Ed, the regular doorman/security guard (who happened to have a semi-automatic machine gun within arm’s distance at all times, but passers-by had no clue, as it should be). You also pointedly ignore the two men, whom you recognize, that happen to be following you both.

You make small talk with Steve as you walk to the restaurant. He doesn’t ask a lot of questions, but you can tell he’s overwhelmed by the area. You make a mental note to bring it up in tomorrow’s session. When you get to the restaurant you’re greeted by Mario, the owner. He greets you exuberantly, kissing your hand.

“And who is this handsome young man?” Mario asks, turning to look up at Steve. Steve doesn’t say anything, just smiles down at the Italian.

“This is Steve. He’s a friend,” you answer, and Steve shakes his hand. Mario eyes you skeptically.

“Just a friend, yes,” he says playfully, ushering you to a booth. “Here, sit with your ‘he’s a friend’ and I’ll get you your regular.”

You can’t help but smile at Mario’s antics; he’s been witness to several dates with several men, of whom none made the cut. You try not to think about that when you look at Steve, but you find he’s already watching you and your stomach flips.

“So that’s what I am?” he asks. You can tell he’s asking in jest, but you feel your cheeks turn pink. You nod, forcing an effortless smile. At least, you hope it looks effortless.

“Yeap,” you answer, folding your hands on top of the table. “Just a friend.”

_Because you can never be anything else, so get it together woman._

* * *

**Two Months Later  
**

You’re just finishing up for the evening when you hear a knock on your office door. You look up, grinning widely when you see it’s Natasha. You had become friends when you started working here, and you haven’t seen her for several months while she was working undercover in Stark Industries… but you “didn’t know” that piece of information.

You wave for her to come in, closing your laptop and stuffing it in your bag. She does, walking over to embrace you in a hug.

“When did you get back?” you ask, squeezing Natasha as tightly as you can. She laughs, squeezing you back.

“A couple hours ago. Wanna go for a drink?”

You pull back, smiling. “God, yes,” you breathe, grabbing your bag. You link arms with Nat, the two of you make your way down to the ground floor while discussing everything that you’ve missed in each others’ lives since you’d seen each other last.

It amazes you how close you and Nat are, especially considering the extreme differences in your duties with SHIELD. But you’d hit it off almost immediately, and you two were practically joined at the hip when she wasn’t away on a mission. You were so close, in fact, that there were rumors you two were more than friends. You usually ignored those.

Tonight you opt for your regular after-work place: a quiet, upscale Gastropub that made a pretty decent margarita. You’re telling her about your assignment to Steve and sipping on your third margarita when you feel someone come up behind you, his hand coming to rest on your lower back. You turn, your eyebrow raised, expecting to see someone you know. When you don’t recognize the man, you can’t help but feel annoyed at the interruption. You can tell before he speaks that the line is going to be cheesy.

“Are you a magician? Cause you just made everyone in this bar disappear.”

Nat snorts into her martini and you fight the urge to laugh. Instead, you lean on one elbow and give a nauseatingly sweet smile.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your wonderfully thought out pick up line, but I’m actually trying to catch up with my girlfriend,” you answer, hoping the guy will leave you alone. He clearly doesn’t get the message as he looks between you and Nat, a hopeful glint in his eye.

“I’ve always wanted to do lesbians,” he says, and you resist the urge to punch him in his smug face. You don’t have to, though, as Nat leans up against your back, her cheek brushing yours.

“Not gonna happen, Sport. I don’t like sharin’ my girl,” she says, and you can hear the edge in her voice. To add to the act, her hand drops and grazes your left breast through your shirt. You feel your nipples tighten at the sudden contact and let out a small sigh before you realize it. The guy’s eyes track the movement, and he licks his lips.

“What d’you say we get outta here, babe?” Nat whispers in your ear, teeth tugging on the lobe. You nod, completely confused about what’s going on. Nat can’t possibly be serious right now. You turn, dropping off of the stool as Nat slides a few bills across the bar. She slips her hand across your waist, resting it on your ass as you saunter out of the bar. You let out a strained laugh as you make it out onto the street.

“Thanks for that,” you say, smiling at Nat. You’re shocked when her lips meet yours in a soft kiss. You stare at her with wide eyes as she pulls away, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. She can see your confusion and jerks her chin towards the bar behind you, where you turn to see Mr. Creep staring at you.

“Just playing the role,” Nat murmurs, hand sliding down your arm to lace her fingers with yours. You bite your lip, recognizing that look in her eye.

“That wasn’t all for him,” you whisper, not posing it as a question. Nat shrugs, smiling softly.

“And what if it wasn’t?”

You feel like you’re moving without control of your body when you lean into Nat, pressing your mouth against hers in another kiss. This one is hungrier, your tongue dipping into her mouth. She pulls away, leaning around to suck on your neck.

“Your place?” she smears across your pulse point, laving her tongue over it. You shake your head.

“Office. It’s closer,” you moan, your hands going up to her hair. She pulls back, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

* * *

Steve realizes how late it is when he’s on the lift headed to your office. He found himself not wanting to go to bed and decided that, after two punching bags were beaten out of commission, that the third didn’t deserve it. So, instead of taking it out, he thought he would come talk to you.

He’s surprised at how easy it is to do. He has to admit, when he first woke up, he assumed no one could possibly know what he was going through. No one has lived it, so no one can get it. But boy is he glad he was wrong.

You listen to him, truly listen. Not just that crap that most people do where they ask him about what his life was like and then tune out when he starts telling them. It’s like most people think his life was all war, but there was a lot in between.

You care about him, and he’s finding out he cares about you, too. At times he almost feels like he’s talking to Peggy, and, even though you aren’t her, he finds great comfort in that.

Steve sighs, leaning against the back wall of the lift as it rises, knowing that he’s close to your floor. He can’t stop from smiling.

 _Maybe I’ll do it tonight,_  he thinks, biting his lip.  _Maybe I’ll just ask her if she wants to go get coffee, or pizza, or maybe go to Coney Island. Buck always took girls to Coney Island._

His heart wrenches at the thought of his best friend and he has to blink back tears. You’d kept your word, getting Bucky and Steve’s medals out of the Archives. You’d even had them framed, and now they sit on his bookshelf. You’d tied yourself to the thought of his best friend, which made his heart swell with both joy and sadness.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when the elevator doors open onto the hall you first led him down. He’s half way down the hall when he hears it: a low moan, punctuated by a cry. He slows, stepping as lightly as possible, trying to figure out what office it’s coming from. His heart sinks when he realizes it’s yours.

He stops a hair’s breadth from the door, peeking around through the blinds. They're pulled about three quarters of the way shut, but they're open just enough that he can make out your form perched on the edge, bare feet propped up on the arms of the chair he usually sits in. He feels sick when he sees the woman on her knees in front of you, face buried between your thighs. He watches as your back arches, cursing in Russian as you fist the redhead’s hair.

He backs away when he hears you come, unable to watch any longer. Searing hot tears burn at his eyes, and he scolds himself for thinking that you would be interested.

“She won’t ever want you,” he mutters to himself, looking up at his reflection in the window of another office. “You’re too broken, and you won’t ever be fixed.”

And with that statement, he puts his fist through the glass.


End file.
